When the Cradle Breaks
by Catherine E. Grant
Summary: Minerva remembers the 'character forming' events of her student days. What secrets does she hide and how do they relate to other staff members?
1. When the Cradle Breaks: Chapter One

WHEN THE CRADLE BREAKS

Author: Catherine E. Grant (avatar_31@angelfire.com)

A/N: In my funny little world, Minerva, Sybill & Severus were in the same year, but Minerva is two years younger because she started early. The trio are 7 years ahead of the marauders so she's five years older. No I'm not being pedantic it's important to me. So there!  
  
Disclaimer: Oh for a polyjuice potion to make me into J.K. Rowling! For the want of a potion the character rights were lost… None of these characters belong to me, but a good guideline is if you recognise them, they're Rowling's, if not, they're mine. Duh. Nevermind J.K, I'm only borrowing your characters while I try to think of some of my own (and because I really like 'em!)

~~~  
WHEN THE CRADLE BREAKS

~~~

The words on the page seemed to be taking on a life of their own when Minerva McGonagall finally put away the book she'd been trying to read. It was no use. Tiredly she rubbed her eyes and sipped at the hot chocolate she had brought from the kitchen over an hour ago. It was, as she had expected, stone cold. "Holius" she muttered softly and the liquid began to bubble in response. 

The Transfigurations teacher held the warm mug against her forehead and sighed. Sometimes reading helped her to relax, but not tonight. What would her colleagues do? She couldn't imagine Dumbledore ever being stressed out. Not even Voldemort fazed him. And Sprout? Snape? She shuddered. Trelawney? 

They'd talk to someone. But who did she have to talk to? Dumbledore? Not likely. Fellow teacher or not, Minerva always had the horrible feeling that he was only amused if she tried to bring a problem to his attention. That was the problem with the huge age gap between them; he treated her more like one his students than anything else. And it hurt.

Minerva wondered briefly what had brought her to this juncture in her life. Here she was, at the start of a secure career, so many possible futures arrayed before her, but with nothing to really call her own. Oh, she had Hogwarts, but so did all her colleagues and a damned large amount of underage wizards. Expand that. Professor McGonagall had Hogwarts.

Minerva had nothing. No family, no siblings, no lover, husband or parents to turn to. No friends. 

"Face it Minnie, you've done a pretty good job of turning yourself into the loneliest little witch in the wizarding world; you shut out everyone who wanted to care until they walked away in disgust. Now you're as alone as you deserve…" 

There'd been Sybill, once. Not any more. Though once as close as sisters (or so it had felt) there was now a pretty big rift between the two. Sybill Trelawney, everything anyone could have wanted. Pretty? Yes, she had been. With a cute smile, a lovely cloud of blonde hair that was always set in some attractive smile, a figure that always stayed slim and svelte no matter how much chocolate she ate, Sybill had been the unquestioned queen of the form. The Hufflepuff Honey… and the Gryffindor Gargoyle.

The old, cruel nickname still brought tears to Minerva's eyes. Oh, yes, children could be cruel. She was no princess, she'd be the first to admit it, but she'd been teased so much she never expected anyone but her teachers, family, and Sybill to call her by her real name. 

"McGonagall misfit! Gryffindor Gargoyle!"

Sybill had always been the perfect friend. She'd seemed so wonderful, so sweet and caring that it had been no wonder the easily influenced Minerva had fallen completely under her charm. They'd met on the train when Sybill had stopped some Slytherin boys who had stolen her wand from breaking her arm.

Why hadn't she fitted in? She'd just never seemed to matter to anyone, really… There'd been the age gap, of course. Minerva had been sent to Hogwarts two years earlier than normal, the customary response to an extremely precocious child. She'd topped her form and her parents had been so proud.

The first thing Minerva did upon becoming a teacher was outlaw that custom.

They teased her for being smart. They teased her for being younger than they were. They'd teased her for her appearance. She'd never been called pretty, but her looks had always been unique. She'd been gaunt, even then; frosty skin as bleached as parchment stretched across fragile bones to define sharp features. Wild raven locks that defied styling and fought brushing. Haunted eyes. A lost appearance. Like something from a muggle child's storybook about vampires.

__

"Hey, Lady Death!"  
_Girl walking quickly down the corridor balancing a large pile of books and trying to ignore the insults. Hot tears spilling from red rimmed eyes across chalky cheeks. "Didn't you hear me! Misfit! Freak! Gargoyle!"  
Laughter. Someone crashes into her, books go flying everywhere. A boy picks one up. It is her transfiguration book. "Ohhhh, Transfiguration for seniors, ey? And you just a little thing! Second year and yet you think you're smarter than us!"_

She has learnt not to stand up to them. One day, she vows behind silent lips, she will be the one stopping creatures like them…the person she has always needed herself.

"Say it! Tell 'em what a freak you are, Gargoyle!"  
Leering, spitting faces. Bruises, hexes, curses. Running between classes so she doesn't get caught by another student. Standing in Sybill's shadow listening to the older girl defend her.

Minerva shook her head quietly, staring into the flickering embers of her dying fire. She had no urge to rekindle it. Somehow, it felt appropriate for her mood.

Sybill had stood up for her but she hadn't been there when she'd needed her most.

__

Hands, pushing her roughly against the floor. The common room. Such an innocent place for such a worldly act. Torn robes, probing fingers. Hands across her mouth, warning her not to scream. Agony, tearing ripping agony sending the threads of her dignity wailing off into an abyss. She'd screamed, and screamed, and screamed, but no one came to help her. She'd only known one face. Severus Snape. 

Slytherin bully boy. 

Sybill's boyfriend. 

At the time she'd wondered how in the world he got in there, but she saw later more than one sly, knowing glance directed her way from a Gryffindor smirk. That had cut the most. Slytherins she could deal with, but other Gryffindors?  
  
She'd never been able to tell anyone what happened. She'd tried to tell Sybill, but when she began to force the words out, Severus had walked up and put his arms around Sybill and told her to get lost. The glint of hatred sparkled in his caustic ebony gaze, a terrible light that beginning to be reflected in her best friend's eyes.

__

"Sybill?" Frantically. 

"Get lost, misfit." Snape, leering at her, twitching his hand suggestively. The hand that had stopped her screaming. Skin tearing. Blood. Don't think about that Minnie, don't think about it, you can't let yourself think about it.

"Sybill?"

"Just give us some time alone, will you? I never have any time with Severus." Simpers, smiles at him. 

Big fake grin.

He smirks at Minerva.

"Oh, if she wants a good time she knows where to find me…" Suggestively.

Rage boils up inside her. Tears cut ruby streaks upon that alabaster skin.

"Sybill?" One last time. Plaintively.

"Piss off, McGonagall." 

Friends no longer. 

Sometimes when she dreams she can still see his smirking face, leering at her. "Want a good time, little misfit?"

Oh how it hurt.

Shadows from the past swirled around the huddled figure on the chair. McGonagall wept. 

Burning eyes fogged steaming glasses as she groped blindly for the sleeping potion on the tiny table. She knocked it with the side of her hand. The precious liquid poured silently into the single cup, mixing with the shuddering substance it contained. Forgotten potion; it had seemed too silly to drink once she made it, but she had been loathe to toss it out. Potions had never been her strong suit.

Angry hisses rent the air as the liquid bubbled, yet they were covered by the sound of Minerva's sniffling. Fumbling fingers grasped the flagon, raised it to trembling lips. She took a long gulp.

Glass shattered loudly, released from nerveless fingers to strike the floorboards. Liquid seeped unheeded into the grain of the wood, as slow, regular breathing replaced the rapid pounding of her heart. 

Though she slept as though at peace, the pallor of the battered, lonely woman left no doubt that she was finally being courted by the Lord whose lady she had been named.

~~~  



	2. When the Cradle Breaks: Chapter Two

WHEN THE CRADLE BREAKS 2

Author: Catherine E. Grant (avatar_31@angelfire.com)

Disclaimer: Only the story belongs to me, the setting and all involved belong to J.K. Rowling.

The dining hall of Hogwarts was filled with an absurd hush as Professor Dumbledore made his announcement. A few grins were apparent at the Slytherin table. The Headmaster noted with sorrow that both Professors Trelawney and Snape looked like they'd just been handed the House Cup on a platter. He had been planning to talk with them about their ridiculous feud with Minerva, but somehow it had never seemed the right time. Now she was lying in a coma in the hospital wing and they were gloating. He shook his head. What secrets lay between them, he had no idea. Perhaps a simple talk with Minerva was overdue. She'd been such a bright child and he couldn't understand where they had gone wrong.

Madame Pomfrey had been the one to find her. Draped across her sofa, tear stains marring her pale complexion. A waxy pallor overshadowed her usually slender frame and her breath barely fogged the mirror the other woman produced with trembling hands. 

Dumbledore had known fear one of the few times in his life when Madame Pomfrey walked into his office. 

His ageless eyes glinted sadly behind the near-legendary half-moon glasses as he took in the scene before him. A shattered glass lay beneath her outreached hand. Several drops of liquid had curdled in the shards. Of the rest of it, there was no sign. Albus could only pray that she had not drunk the entire mixture. 

"Get that checked out" he said quietly. Pomfrey nodded. "I'll take her to the hospital wing." Gently he cradled the fallen woman in his arms, and was surprised at the lack of weight. Her hair hung awkwardly over his arm, and he shifted slightly to make carrying her easier. As he did so, her robes slipped. Dumbledore swore softly at the old burns and scars across her collarbone. Little surprise, then, that Minerva didn't favour the revealing robes favoured by so many young witches. "Poppy." The woman followed his gaze and was visibly shaken. "I think we have a bigger problem here than some mystery potion."  
  
Dumbledore's thoughts wandered back to the pair of gloating faces in the great hall, and he was sorely troubled.

~~~  
Meet the Marauders. Seventh year, Gryffindor House. Location: Transfigurations Class. 

The Members: James Potter, also known as 'Prongs.' Head Boy. Grave disposition balanced by a lively sense of humour and keen intellect. Popular.

Sirius Black. Best friends with Potter. A rule-breaker yet protective and supportive towards his friends. Likes to joke but sometimes doesn't know when to pull a punch. Luckily, James is nearly always there to pull him out of a mess.

Remus Lupin, who just happens to be the only werewolf to ever attend Hogwarts. Serious personality, very warm-hearted and caring though he tends to lock his feelings away. His friendship is not given easily but is for life.

Peter Pettigrew. Small, rat-like, cunning and canny. Though without the quick mentality of his friends he uses his sly mind to achieve results. Perhaps to anyone other than James Potter he would be someone to watch, yet James trusts him and his friends extend that same acceptance.

Lily Evans, the newest member of the little clique and James' steady girlfriend. High moral standards yet has learnt in the company of the others how to unbend. Somewhat.

As the only other Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore himself was filling in during Professor McGonagall's 'illness,' as he termed it. Yet, the usually unflappable Headmaster seemed strangely sad and thoughtful whenever her name was mentioned, and the students could only try to fill in the blanks themselves.

"I hear she finally decided to accept that she was dead and retire gracefully," declared Sirius Black, in the loud voice he always affected whenever he wanted to be heard and noted. His classmates clustered around him talking excitedly. "Well, you know what they call her, Lady Death" he was explaining his comment. 

"Where did you hear that, Mr Black?" Dumbledore's smooth voice cut across the conversation.

Sirius turned an unembarrassed face to him as many of his friends moved away. "Professor Snape, sir" he said calmly. The Headmaster's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I've spoken to him about black-mouthing his colleagues."  
Someone sniggered.

"You find this humorous? I am indeed happy for you. Until we can all share this mirth I must resort to taking ten points off Gryffindor."  
He opened his book pointedly and the lesson began.

In the middle of the back row, a wiry, nervous looking boy was collecting his fair share of bruised ankles. "That's for getting those points taken off us" hissed Lily Evans; a tall, popular girl recently named prefect. She took her responsibilities seriously. "Well I couldn't help it!" Peter Pettigrew whined. On his other side, Remus Lupin snorted loudly and barely avoided detection. "Yeah, real funny" he muttered. Pettigrew rolled his eyes. 

Remus twisted uneasily in his seat. Every so often, he paused to send a dark look towards Pettigrew and Sirius. He was partly angry, partly upset and partly disappointed, as though he believed his friends would have shared his concern. But the fury that he felt he kept well contained. Flashes of his anger danced once or twice as he gave his baneful glare, but Remus found it difficult to express what he felt in words. Somehow he just knew that the absent Professor deserved greater respect.

Sirius caught his look and smirked. _Pay attention_ he scribbled on a corner of his parchment. Remus scribbled back _Can't think today _and his friend nodded. He knew why. 

Class dragged. Homework was given, instructions to prepare for the next class. A sea of heads nodded studiously. Only one had any intention of having any work done at all, and Lily had nearly finished the homework for the next few chapters.

As the classroom emptied, Remus gathered his books up slowly and walked up to the board. He caught Sirius' eye; the other boy nodded. He'd catch up with them later. "Professor Dumbledore, sir?"

He turned and blue eyes met golden. "Yes, Mr Lupin?" Dark circles marred the old man's face and he looked as though he hadn't slept in days – which, considering the circumstances, he probably hadn't. "Um, I was wondering – how is she?"

Dumbledore nodded to himself and smiled sadly. He regarded Remus with affection. "Not good, I'm afraid."

"Would I be able to see her?" The Headmaster listened to the eagerness in the boy's words and saw the hope glistening in his eyes. Sadly he remembered a time when he, too, had been so innocent, had believed dreams could change the world. But this boy has had a harder start to life than most, he reminded himself. Still, the unspoken faith in Remus' face shook Dumbledore greatly. 

"Just for a moment or two," he agreed, and received a sweet smile in response. Remus fell into step behind him, clutching his books with an almost forlorn cast to his expression. He hopes, but he doesn't have much faith after all, the Headmaster realised. 

"You see, Mr Lupin-" Dumbledore found himself falling into a fatherly tone with the boy, "We can't actually treat Professor McGonagall, because we can't tell what's wrong with her. Something in that potion she drank, no doubt. We found residue of a sleeping potion in the glass, but not even Professor Snape can ascertain what the rest of the mixture was, or even if was meant to be there. What ever it was, there aren't enough traces left to identify."  
  
Remus nodded slowly, digesting the information. Dumbledore noted with sorrow he hugged his books even tighter. _I wish I had some better news to give you,_ he thought, _but it's all we can do to even keep her alive._ This he would not voice aloud. Dumbledore kept to himself also the marks of old abuse that he and Madame Pomfrey had found on their 'Sleeping Beauty.' Poppy had examined her further and her face had been grave when she told him the oldest of the scars was around thirteen years old and the newest five. Minerva was only twenty-three. In Dumbledore's horrified eyes, that meant the abuse and Minerva's years at Hogwarts coincided exactly. He knew her parents and he would rather have eaten the Sorting Hat than accuse them of any form of child abuse. He knew they loved their daughter for all they little understood her. Who, then? Other students?  


The triumphant gloats of Snape and Trelawney kept coming back to haunt him.

Them, then? Surely not. Severus had been a model student, a Prefect and popular. Sybill had been Minerva's friend! Frowning, Dumbledore tried to place a date on the severing of that friendship.

Severing. What an interesting word. It would have been about fourth year, wouldn't it? Around the time Sybill starting seeing Severus. 

It hurt to imagine Hogwarts students, _his_ students, willingly abusing their classmates. They couldn't do such a thing. Could they? 

Minerva had always been a loner. To his fond thought it was because she'd been so bookish she didn't have the same needs as other students, she did well enough with her books and with her studies. He'd even encouraged her to keep apart. The next Dumbledore, he'd thought of her, proudly going about his way to train his successor as Headmaster.

Now Dumbledore found his assumptions challenged, and he didn't like it in the slightest. Perhaps she'd been a loner because she didn't _have_ any friends that she could turn to… Perhaps she didn't feel that she could trust anyone. 

No, they'd been her classmates, her housemates in some cases; of course she could trust them. House ties were as strong as family. 

Why then have a Hufflepuff for an only friend?  
  
But not for long.

They would have accepted her, wouldn't they? Yes, they would have. Just because she was younger than them didn't mean they wouldn't like her. Although she'd always beaten them in school work and in flying. 

Dumbledore's brow creased again as he pondered this quandary. She'd been pretty good on her broomstick, he'd watched her several times when she'd flown. Funny that she never wanted to join the Quidditch team, positively ran off in fright when he suggested it. Funny that no other Gryffindor had ever suggested it. Of course, they'd rarely ever seen her fly…

Because she never flew when there was a chance someone could have knocked her off her broom.

Dumbledore was putting figures together and coming up with answers that he didn't want to accept.

Faintly he felt a gentle tugging at his sleeve, and turned, bemusedly. He looked across into the concerned face of Remus Lupin. "Sir, are you alright?" the boy asked. "The infirmary's right here."  
"It is? Oh." Dumbledore shook his head. "Sorry about that, I was thinking." He shook his head again to clear it.

The Headmaster stuck his head round the door. Poppy Pomfrey and a first year Ravenclaw girl looked up in surprise. "Beth?" he asked quietly and the girl nodded, blushing at being addressed by Dumbledore. 

"When you're finished, could you find Professors Trelawney and Snape and bring them here? I'd like a few words with them."  
"I'll go right away sir," she replied and slipped away quickly. 

Poppy stood up and brushed down her robes. She gave them a weak smile. "No change," she answered the unspoken question.

Dumbledore gestured for Remus to proceed him into the room. "There's no time like the present," he told him calmly, though his own thoughts were entangled in the past.


	3. When the Cradle Breaks: Chapter Three

****

WHEN THE CRADLE BREAKS Ch. 3

****

Disclaimer:

Recognisable characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Any minor ones who have an incredibly tiny part and don't seem familiar are probably mine. The storyline is wholly mine; I'm not completely happy with parts of it but I'm not doing a back flip now. Minerva's age is my assumption; I know Rowling puts her somewhat older, but I've always thought of her as about five years ahead of the marauders. I'm not that rapt with the assumption I made that Severus and Sybill are Minerva's age, solely because having Snape as that annoying greasy-haired git and peer of the marauders works so well! And he'd never come off better than second best… But as a story device, he's five years older than MWPP, just so the abuse of Minerva works. I could easily see someone like Snape slipping into abuse of the 'unpopular girl' knowing that his peers would encourage him, it was the 'in' thing to do and none of the teachers would believe her if she tried to say anything.   
  
Enough said.

~~

Minerva floated in a murky dream world. Everything felt foggy and cold, but she felt it with a funny detached feeling. Nothing seemed important any more. 

She drifted with a faint feeling of amusement at herself. Silly girl. How could she have worried about such little things? They didn't matter, nothing mattered. The best thing to do was to stay here. The cold was comforting and it leached away every anxious thought before she could properly frame it. There was something, wasn't there? That potion…

What potion? Oh well, it couldn't have been much. Minerva dismissed the thought. Why worry about some old potion? She didn't care very much for potions, after all. Potions were _his _thing. Snape. Tendrils of fog reached out and clasped the horrid, slimy little word and took it away from her. 

And Minerva drifted on. They called her hard, cold, distant, uncaring. Maybe she was, now. It's easy to stop caring when nobody seems to care about you. Though there _was_ someone who seemed to, not counting Dumbledore, who always treated her with a mixture of concern and amused condescension. One of her students. There seemed to be a sadness in his eyes that said he'd felt a similar pain.

  
But that was just sheer nonsense, wasn't it?  
  
~~~

Remus leant over the narrow bed and took placed his hand over McGonagall's. Her skin was cold and he suppressed a momentary feeling of panic. That had to be a side effect of the coma. Madame Pomfrey would know.   


He sat beside her for a moment and felt foolish. Carefully he let go of her hand and replaced it on the top of the coverlet. He spared a quick glance for Professor Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey, to see if they had noticed his momentary lapse, but they were clustered at the door of her office, talking intently in low voices. 

Remus sighed. He'd always thought there was something tragic about Professor McGonagall. There was a general sadness, that spoke more of a lifetime of deprivation than a loss, and an overwhelming loneliness in the way she tried to keep herself apart from everyone. She had to be lonely, he reasoned, because he'd never seen her appear friendly and relaxed with anyone. Something haunted lurked in the back of her eyes, a frightened glimpse that was replaced with coldness whenever she recollected herself.

But Remus noticed. Many years of being a werewolf, making excuses and being ostracised for what he was meant he recognised such pain in others. And he watched, trying to be as unobtrusive yet as friendly as he dared. He didn't want to intimidate her. Sometimes she would open up, a little, and he could see the distress she tried to hide, but then something would happen, or more usually someone would say something, and she'd shrink inside herself and slam the windows shut. Then she was all strictness and coldness, wearing her best Professor-mask and acting a part for all she was worth. 

Years of telling lies let Remus know when others told them. Minerva didn't just tell them, she lived them.

And it worried him.

~~~  


Severus Snape dropped his potions book in disgust when the little Ravenclaw girl knocked on his office door and explained Dumbledore wished to see him in Madame Pomfrey's office. 

What now? he wondered. Could that old fool be possibly still worrying about the Gryffindor bitch? 

Snape allowed himself a tight smile. Perhaps the Headmaster suspected him of doing something to her. 

He only wished he had. When he'd learnt of her little 'misfortune' all the old dislike reared its head and shouted in his ear. He'd been delighted to hear what had happened. Rarely did such good news make itself known to the Potions master. Not even handing out multiple detentions gave him such a warm, contented feeling. It was almost… happy. 

~~~


End file.
